Alf pulled up—no easy matter, for Sharik was going his best. Both boys shuddered, as a loud, hoarse cry of horror and fear came towards them on the following wind. It was the cry of some strong man in mortal peril and deadly terror, and as it rang out again and again on the frosty air, both the boys turned sick with sympathetic fear and a dreadful understanding of the truth.
For, strange to say, the long line of pursuing wolves had broken, and those that had been nearest to the young riders had turned, and were cantering back as though scenting another and an easier quarry.
As the lads waited, listening spellbound, two shots rang out sharply, followed by dismal howling and snarling. Then there was a pause and another shot, more yells, and one last despairing call for help that was not at hand.
The eyes of the two boys met, and the same thought flashed into the minds of each.
"Yes," said Alf, in a hushed, awe-struck voice, "it is, I truly believe, Gavril of the Red-scar. He had come after us on his snow-shoes, but God did not suffer him to overtake us. Oh, Bert, do you remember what dad was reading at prayers the other morning? The words of a bit of a verse have been haunting me ever since we started to-day. The enemy said, 'I will pursue,' but the enemy didn't overtake the Israelites, nor our enemy us. Now, Sharik, go on, and get us quickly to the wood."
The tardy light of the winter morning was just beginning to glimmer grey-white in the east as the young riders reached the wood which, for all the last part of their way, had been the goal of their hopes.
The road, such as it was, narrow and ill-defined, led through the heart of the forest; and—anxious to find some safe place where they could rest—the boys rode slowly along, eyeing with eager glances every little clearing for signs of a woodman's hut or peasant's cottage, or even a shed, so that it had walls and a roof.
For some time, however, nothing was to be seen but the thickly-growing, snow-clad pines and firs. But at last Bert's quick eyes spied out among a mass of saplings a small building, made apparently of split pine logs, the round side turned outwards.
Nothing could well have been poorer in the way of a house, nothing more uninviting. Yet never was the sight of a king's palace so welcome to anyone as this hovel to our tired young travellers, for at least it promised safety and a place where they could lie down and sleep off some of their great weariness.
The door was fast closed, but there were sounds within, and they could see a light through the little bottle-glass window. Leading the pony, the boys stopped at the door and knocked.